


A Study in Ashes

by Eliza Knight (newtonx3x)



Series: Ash [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Murder Mystery, Original Character Death(s), References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtonx3x/pseuds/Eliza%20Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part IV of Ash.<br/>Contains Major Spoilers!</p><p>Sherlock never thought he'd be solving her case;<br/>Never thought he'd be solving her murder.<br/>She was supposed to go out in style,<br/>Not gunned down in the process of saving his life.</p><p>Sherlock is desperately trying to repay his debts. She saved his life, but at the cost of her own. He never thought he could love, but she's proven him wrong. John is struggling to cope, but Sherlock is paying her back. He will solve her murder if it kills him.</p><p>It might just come to that.</p><p>The both of them thought that her addictions would claim her life, but then she had clean for a full year. They didn't know what would kill her after that, likely all the permanent damage that the drugs had caused to her system. Everyone was certainly praying that the cravings and re-lapses were gone for good, that all of her addictions had been erased. The drugs? Maybe. The murders? Never.</p><p>Sherlock needs to solve her murder, and dismantle Moriarty's network. He's already solved the mystery of Moriarty's Accomplice, but now he needs to solve the rest. And he's going to do it alone.</p><p>He's going to do it for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Since these works are being published out-of-order, there will be major spoilers in pretty much every scene. It is recommended that you wait until the series is finished before reading this one.
> 
> Or, you know, don't. Either one.
> 
> I'm going to apologize right here for the pain and feels this finale (as a whole) is going to cause. Sorry, but according my friends, I'm worse than Moffat when it comes to feels. Let me know if you agree.

Sherlock turned the corner after the hooded man, Ash and John clipping his heels. The man had the blood of six women on his hands, and while Sherlock had found solving the cases quite interesting and a better distraction than Moriarty had ever provided, Ash had convinced him that they needed to catch the guy. In her words: "if you want to let a murderer run loose for sport, that's fine with me, but he's officially started to bore me, so I'm going after him. Come if you wish."

Ash had a way with words. She used a gun, but words were her forte. She could wield them as weapons that would be pressed against the throats of her victims, effectively pinning them. Ash knew that Sherlock cared for her, despite her being the sister of his best friend. She was a genius, and Sherlock had silently admitted to himself that she might even better at deductions than he was... that is, when she wasn't on morphine after her overdoses.

Sherlock caught John out of the corner of his eye, briefly reaching into his pocket and fingering his gun. All three of them were armed, and if Sherlock was correct - and with Ash, he might never know - Ash carried two pistols and a knife. He'd come home one day and saw Ash cutting the lining up by the top of her knee-high boots, re-stitching them with a new, mostly hidden pocket.

They knew the suspect was armed, but three-on-one odds were working in their favor. That, and they had John, the soldier, on their side. Sherlock and Ash could calculate the trajectory of a bullet before the trigger was even pulled, so they had a chance of avoiding serious injuries if it came to that.

The trio rounded another corner, finding the suspect pinned by a brick wall. Sherlock and John raised their guns to fire, Ash knowing that, between the detective and the soldier, the suspect would be long dead. Sherlock saw that the gunman had already had them in his sights, and it didn't take him an instant to calculate who was supposed to die.

Three shots fired, and two were wounded. Sherlock had braced for the bullet to strike his chest and kill him. Mary had done a flawless job of preparing him to be shot, and Reichenbach had him prepared to die. But something wasn't right. The  _darkness_ wasn't the same.

There was a weight against his chest. No shock, no pain. Just the darkness that didn't feel right, and that weight. It wasn't until he heard her soft groan did he open his eyes, not realizing that he'd closed them in the first place. Ash was slumped against him, and as John pulled her off, the weight was removed. The fading light and her dark shirt had prevented the two men from seeing the blood blossom as it soaked through the light fabric. Her skin was slowly fading to an ashen grey, and while the medical knowledge had been left to John, Sherlock knew that Ash was dying. No doubt in his mind about it. He quickly pulled out his phone and called Lestrade. He knew Ash would protest at the notion of being taken to such a hateful place like that of a hospital, but he didn't care.

"Ash?" John asked, trying to stimulate a response, earning a slight, pained murmur.

"Sh-Sherlock," she whispered between her gasping, uneven breaths. Sherlock took her palm, discreetly taking her pulse while John tried to slow the bleeding. Her pulse was slow, but it was still there. That was all Sherlock needed right now.

"I'm here," he replied, casting a worried look to John, who paid no mind to it. Instead, the doctor was set on scolding the dying detective.

"Ashley Elizabeth Watson," he muttered. "What did we say about getting killed?"

Ash knew the question was rhetorical, and chose to leave it that way. "Damn, John," she choked, a whisper of a pained smile on her lips. It was almost unnoticeable as she asked: "What did I tell you about using my full name?"

Sherlock fought back a sheepish smile, hanging up the phone. "I like Ash more, anyways," he joked, trying to get her to smile. Her grip on her hand eased briefly before disappearing completely. He looked nervously to John as Lestrade appeared around the corner, momentarily petrified by the sight, before hanging by the corner to direct the paramedics. "John?"

John kept trying to wake Ash, while Sherlock slipped his fingers along her wrist, a panic rising in his chest as he failed to locate a pulse. "John?" Sherlock asked again, causing John to take a deep breath. He watched helplessly as the doctor tried, one last time, to get a pulse, breath, response,  _anything._

He came up empty. Sherlock could see it in his furrowed brow and shaking hands, in his creased forehead and regretful gaze. Seeing that look, and knowing the truth, Sherlock cast his eyes to the dead suspect, who lay around ten meters away. Sherlock took a look at the gunshot wound that had killed Ash, which had ripped a rather large hole through her heart, and briefly, mentally compared it to the gunman's height.  _Something wasn't right._ The math didn't add up. The angles were all wrong

Sherlock abruptly stood, checking the suspect, and finding two wounds, one dead-center in his chest, and one that tore through his head. Sherlock knew which one was his. He checked the caliber of the gunman's weapon, then the size of Ash's wound.  _They didn't match._

The detective ran over the the wall that had been behind them, running his fingers along the edge until he found a small hole. Lestrade was now watching him intently as Sherlock tried to pry out something inside, both detectives trying to occupy their minds as the paramedics carried off Ash. Sherlock got a glimpse and forced himself to look away. He never imagined seeing a body bag and knowing that his friend was inside.

Sherlock pried a bullet from the wall, noticing how it noticed the perfect match with the suspect's gun. He dared to glance back at the scene just as the body bag was being zipped up. He never imagined that he would see a body bag and know that Ash was inside... and not while the two of them were doing an experiment. He didn't need a chalk outline. He didn't need to see her body. Everything fit, but it didn't fit what they were supposed to believe. Sherlock held the bullet up for Lestrade to see.

"Our suspect missed?" the DI clarified, staring at the projectile. "Then what killed-" he trailed off, taking a deep breath. "There was a second shooter?"

"That would be the only explanation of all the evidence," Sherlock murmured, frowning. He cast a glance back to the bloodied scene, knowing that the pool of blood at John's feet belonged to Ash. There was an unfamiliar ache in his heart. He hadn't felt it since... Reichenbach. Even when he was being targeted by that madman bomber, he wasn't afraid. He was very afraid, and... something else. Grief?

John finally broke out of his trance as he came to join Lestrade and Sherlock, his gaze possessing a haunted sheen. Sherlock had noticed the same sheen in Lestrade's eyes, and, statistically, his own gaze was similar in some way, shape or form. He tried his best to hide the inevitable, traumatized look in his eye from John, but the facade didn't keep him from feeling the terrifying grief that was coursing through his system.

He wasn't sure how long he could bear that feeling. He cast a last glance at their dead suspect, feeling anger well up in him.  _Six women._ It was likely that Lestrade's report would say seven, but Sherlock knew better. Ash had seen something he'd missed. Ash had saved his life, at the cost of her own. Their suspect wasn't her murderer, which meant there was another. A psychopath that was walking free.

Sherlock was going to find them if it killed him.


End file.
